


Act Natural

by ouroborosnakes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mission Fic, Undercover as a Couple, more dumb tropes lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroborosnakes/pseuds/ouroborosnakes
Summary: When an anonymous contact reaches out to Nastasha with information not stated in her book, the still-wet Philanthropy group of Snake and Otacon go to investigate, who are foolhardy in their attempt to blend in.
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As much as we are grateful for everything you’ve done for us…” Otacon begins, ticking the cruise control higher. “I wish you could at least give us a little more insight on what we’re doing before we drive all the way out to California.” 
> 
> “I’ve already told Snake.” Looking over, Snake licks his bottom lip and remains silent. “It involves him more than you, but I wanted you to accompany him.” With a sigh, Otacon checks his mirrors and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.
> 
> “Okay, Snake. What’s the mission?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is only the first part; i feel if i get it started then i'll feel more motivated to finish it. 
> 
> this is... similar to Plus One in a kind of spy movie esque plot but isn't directly related to Plus One. if anything, this predates it, but read it however you want.

Nastasha, despite everything she’s given for the good of Philanthropy, was not above making Snake and Otacon drive cross-country to talk in person. 

“You two must be tired of couch surfing,” she says, tone offering no sympathy. “Consider it a nice change of scenery.” 

“As much as we are grateful for everything you’ve done for us…” Otacon begins, ticking the cruise control higher. “I wish you could at least give us a little more insight on what we’re doing _before_ we drive all the way out to California.” 

“I’ve already told Snake.” Looking over, Snake licks his bottom lip and remains silent. “It involves him more than you, but I wanted you to accompany him.” With a sigh, Otacon checks his mirrors and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“Fine. Send the coordinates again, please.” Hanging up her end of the codec, the location of a hotel in the suburbs of Los Angeles appears, Snake then adjusting the GPS accordingly. 

“Okay, Snake. What’s the mission?”

* * *

Sitting around a coffee table, Nastasha sets down a small pile of printed emails, turning and pushing them towards her colleagues, who try to read it over each other.

“What’s his name?” Otacon inquires, pushing up his glasses.

“Only ever told me Mark." 

“Does that sound familiar?”

“No.” 

“Hm.” Stroking his beard, Snake leans back, mulling over the plan. 

“And you plan on meeting him? This Mark guy.”

“Yes. We’ve already set a time and place.” Laying another paper down, Nastasha reveals the location and floor plan of a bar. With a pen, she draws where she and Mark will be meeting, then where Snake and Otacon will be on standby.

“This seems easy,” Otacon blurts, looking between the papers and Nastasha. “We drove out here just to sit in a bar?”

“It’s more than that, Otacon. If this guy is legitimate, we could have a much bigger issue at hand. Something that may need _taken care of_.” Frowning, Otacon skims over the emails again.

“I was contacted by someone following the publication of my book claiming he had more information regarding the _Les Enfants Terribles_ project from the ‘70s. Naturally,” crossing her legs, Nastasha waves her hand in the air, “I was skeptical. All the research I had done left no room for error - no anonymous source could tell me I missed something. However, I still took precautions and looked into his claims and went to contact Snake. Though he doesn’t remember much of the incident itself - as it was about his conception - he did confirm something Mark had sent me before I asked it.” Looking over at Snake, the man has his arms crossed firmly over his chest, eyes closed with a frown set deep on his features, seemingly uncomfortable with the subject. “I think it is something worth looking into, and you could probably benefit from the experience, Dr. Emmerich.” Uncrossing her legs and tapping her heels on the tile in finality, Nastasha writes more information on the layout in pen before telling them she’ll keep in touch and leaves without another word. 

“Something about this seems... fishy, don’t you think?” Turning towards Snake, the elder looks back eyebrows knit together.

“How so?” Flipping through the pages again, Otacon’s eyes almost burn a hole through the chains of responses. 

“It seems like we don’t need to be here for this.”

“What if this Mark guy turns out to be a trap? Kidnaps, tortures Nastasha? Or if he’s legitimate and knows something that could kill me - something Dr. Hunter might have _forgotten to mention_?” Swallowing dryly, Otacon can’t bear to look at the expression in Snake’s eyes. 

“Sorry. My mind doesn’t work in the same worst-case-scenario fantasies yours does.” Standing from his seat, Snake exhales a short _hmph_ from his nose.

“These are realities, Otacon. Just because we’re trying to help people doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there trying to hurt us. I’m going to stake out the place. Come if you want.” Grabbing his bag of belongings and tossing them onto the bed, Otacon establishes immediately that he’s going to have to take the couch - again - and he’s managed to get on Snake’s bad side. At least he wasn’t pissed in the car. 

* * *

Snake returns a couple hours later, seeming a little more calm than he had left.

“What’d you figure out?” Otacon asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nervously playing with the hem of his jeans.

“Pretty sleazy place. Not the worst, and I can tell Nastasha picked it because people there aren’t likely to eavesdrop, but not anywhere I’d want to meet.”

“Great. What else?” Pausing, Snake looks over to Otacon, on the floor in baggy jeans and a less than fresh t-shirt. 

“We’re going to need new clothes.” Trying to stifle a groan akin to a teenager whose mom wants to take him shopping, Otacon begins to stand before Snake grabs the gracious envelope of cash Nastasha left, turning to leave again. 

"Don't you want me to go with you?"

"No. You can try to look up any information about this Mark guy. Don't wait up." Closing and locking the door from the outside, Otacon is left in the room alone, scrambling up to find his belongings and setting up his laptop.

* * *

Standing in the doorway, Otacon watches Snake rummage through bags of clothing, tags still attached.

“I’ve built up a presence at the bar.”

“Oh?”

“Chatted up the bartender, made sure we secured the booth Nastasha marked. It’s reasonably tucked away and within sight of where she arranged to be meeting Mark. Hopefully there aren’t a lot of people mingling around, but we’ll be listening in via Codec. We might not catch everything he says, though, so I’m putting you in charge of watching her vitals in case anything spikes and we need to take action. Once she joins the server it should sync up.”

“Okay. You said the bar was kind…” drawing a blank, Otacon looks at Snake, trying to find the right adjective.

“Sleazy.”

“Right. What kind of scummy clothes did you get?” With a laugh, Snake lays everything out, letting Otacon look them over.

“Just because the place was cheap doesn’t mean we have to be.” Grabbing a bag that’s yet to be touched, Snake disappears into the bathroom to change. He wasn’t one to shy away from changing in Otacon’s presence - something about the secrecy of it was goosebump inducing.

Looking over the clothes laid out for him, he notes there’s a selection, picking a flannel button up and an uncomfortably stiff pair of jeans. Nothing different than he’d wear to a bar when not undercover. Simple, comfortable, safe.

The bathroom door opens with the click of a lock, Snake stepping out almost cautiously, trying to gauge Otacon’s reaction, who laughs. 

“You definitely look like a product from the 70s,” Otacon comments, imitating the popped collar Snake has. With a small eye roll, Snake looks at himself in the mirror and hesitates, looking to Otacon in the reflection. “Don’t tell me you need help.”

“Apparently you are much more knowledgeable in this millenia than I am.” Huffing, Otacon beckons Snake closer, flattening the collar undoing the first two buttons at the top of his shirt, then taking a half step back and popping the third one. Rolling up one of the sleeves, Otacon drops Snake’s arm and studies him, debating which looked better. 

“I say keep ‘em both up.” As Snake cuffs the other sleeve, Otacon unceremoniously untucks the hem, revealing bits of Snake’s stomach as he goes. “Makes you look less uptight.” 

“Noted. Is that what you’re going with?” Looking at himself in the mirror, Otacon debates changing. It doesn’t quite match whatever vibe Snake was putting on, which he didn’t _know about the_ other’s clothes, as he was intentionally not aware.

“It’s what you picked for me,” Otacon states flatly, rolling up his own sleeves as something to busy his hands with.

“It’s fine. Do you know what we’re doing?”

“Loosely. Unless you and Nastasha have changed plans since this afternoon, I know we’re going to spy on her at a bar.”

“I’ll be watching her, you watch her vitals.”

“That’s easy.”

“It’ll be easy.” With a smile faint enough you could miss it, Snake turns back to the bathroom and slaps on a watch.

“Man,” Otacon says with a whistle, “that’s nice. How much did it cost?”

“Don’t know.” Looking down at Snake, Otacon argues with himself about asking and decides not to bother. “You should shave before we go.”

“Are you not going to?”

“I cleaned up a little,” he replies, almost hurt, stroking his own cheeks to emphasize.

“Coulda fooled me.” Stripping out of his flannel, Otacon drapes it over the towel rack, splashing his face with water.

“Can I talk to you, or will that distract you?”

“I can multitask too, you know.”

“We’re going to take separate cabs. You’re going first. Do you remember the name?” Otacon nods. “Make sure you tell the barkeep your name and he’ll show you the booth I reserved. Don’t talk to anyone. You can order a drink if you want, but don’t get anything too strong. We may be there a while. Wait until I get there. I’ll talk to the barkeep a little before I head over to you. Don’t look at me, don’t acknowledge me until I sit. Got it?”

“What are our names?”

“The name’s Ian,” Snake says, extending his hand for a shake. “Pleasure t’meet ya, Ray.”

“Accents are not your strong suit,” he laughs and shakes, regardless. “Good to meet you, Ian. I’m Ray.”

“In about… 10 minutes you need to snag a ride. Depending on traffic, I won’t be far behind. Let me know when you get there.”

“Okay. Is there anything else I need to know before this?”

“You missed a spot.” Rolling his eyes, Otacon stops patting his face dry and turns to the mirror, looking for what Snake was seeing. The sound of the razor tapping the side of the sink and Otacon’s chin carefully being pushed up and angled so Snake could reach at a patch at the hinge of his jaw leaves Otacon breathless, though he obediently cranes his neck to the other side for easier access. 

“That’s better. Did you want aftershave?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” and with the smallest hint of a smirk Snake pats Otacon on the cheek, handing over his shirt and starts making his final round of the room.

“And Otacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to look as anxious as you are.” Giving Snake a somewhat desperate look to demonstrate he can’t help it, Otacon is then ushered towards the door, awkwardly sliding on his sneakers before finding himself in the hallway alone. Dialing the familiar number, he can almost feel Snake rolling his eyes through the wall.

“Yes?” He says when he picks up, voice slightly agitated.

“Was just making sure it worked, _jeez_. Does Nastasha have this number?”

“She said she’ll join when we meet up. I’ll call her again to remind her.”

“Got it.” Hanging up and pushing the elevator button, Otacon can still feel the sting of Snake’s hand on his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't actually read nastasha's book so bear with me and pretend this is plausible, lol. thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If we have some time to kill," Snake starts, "we should practice our roles." 
> 
> "Is that so?" 
> 
> “Keep up, if you can.” Using his thumb and forefinger to grasp Otacon's chin, Snake pulls him closer and touches the tips of their noses together. “You need to loosen up a little. You look too stiff and unnatural. This is a _role_ and you aren’t selling it very well.” 
> 
> “I’ve never been a very good actor.” 
> 
> “You need to learn fast, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i lied, this is a three-parter. it's been a hell of a month and i will continue to be busy so this is all i have to offer for now. thank you for being patient, and enjoy!

Otacon was more than thankful that his cab driver could somehow sense his nerves and used as little conversation as possible, though he did intentionally catch every light to rack up the fee. Once at the bar, the smell was the first thing he noticed, then the abrupt darkness and mingling patrons who didn’t acknowledge him. Definitely not somewhere he would visit on his own, but ideal for this sort of mission. 

“What can I do ya for?” A man asks, voice coming from the direct of the bar.

“I’m looking for, uh, Ian,” he mumbles, combing his hair back nervously. The bartender nudges his head towards the back of the bar and averts his gaze, like he wasn’t supposed to look at Otacon and goes back to wiping the counter down. 

“You’re a little early, but he should be comin’ soon.” There’s a single booth with a _reserved_ sign on it, very obvious for anyone who happened to walk by. However, the longer Otacon sat there, the more he realized this booth was practically invisible to the oblivious customer. 

“Can I get you anything?” A hostess asks, finally having taken notice to him.

“I’ll just take water for now, thanks.” It takes her an unusually long time, to the point Otacon thinks she’s just forgotten about him but she finally returns with a water and another drink. 

“A gentleman bought it for you,” she says, setting it down in a napkin and then walking away. Sniffing at it hesitantly, it smells awful, and against his better judgement he sticks his pinky finger in it to taste, then decides to just stick to the water. 

Snake approaches the table silently, which would’ve scared the shit out of Otacon any other day if he weren’t already watching the other approach out of his peripheral vision, per prior instructions. Sitting next to and practically on top of him, Snake drapes his arm around the back of the booth and pulls Otacon in, his impish smile disappearing when his lips just barely graze the skin of the other’s neck.

“Here’s the plan,” Snake whispers, breath warm and voice deep, slipping into his suave persona for the night. “You’re going to keep your cool. Do not let on any hint this is new. Follow my lead. If you have any questions, ask it like this.”

“Like what?” Otacon - Ray asks. Keeping his expression neutral, Ian moves from ghosting his breath on Ray’s neck and lips loosely against his earlobe.

“Get as close and intimate as possible. Neck, ear, whatever. Don’t be afraid to get dirty.” Nipping lightly for good measure, Ian pulls back and sips at Ray’s drink without any reaction. Beside him, the doctor blinks a few times to try and process everything that just occurred. 

Hesitantly, he reaches up to touch Ian’s shoulder to get his attention. Without averting his gaze on sizing the crowd, he grabs Ray’s hand and yanks him forward, continuing to mouth along his exposed skin.

“What?”

“I don’t think I could just brazenly come onto you like that.”

“Learn.” With a solid swipe of his tongue, Ian outlines the shell of Ray’s ear before heading back to the bar to obtain his own drink. Ray doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels Ian sit beside him, the ice in his drink clinking when he sips. 

“You aren’t doing a very good job playing along,” Ian remarks behind the rim of his glass. 

“I’m trying to figure out exactly what game it is we’re playing.”

“Not important. Are you on the server?” 

“Yes.”

“Are Nastasha’s stats available?”

“She’s not in yet. They should pop up soon.”

“Okay. For now, mute your end. We’re only going to be listening.” The two sit in silence for a moment, Ray braving to sip fully from his drink, grimacing at the burn. 

“Did you buy this for me?”

“Yeah. Got caught up talking to the girl she almost forgot.”

“Figures. What’s with this whole… sexy get up? Looks different from earlier.”

“Cologne, a little hair gel, added a tie for mystery.”

“Mystery? You look like a businessman about to recklessly get shitfaced after a 9-5.”

“That’s the idea. You’re catching on. Proud of you, baby.” If the pet name alone was embarrassing enough, Ian's hand placing itself firmly on his knee almost knocked Ray out completely. “But you’re still not doing a good job at playing along.”

“Wh-what kind of role am I doing?”

“Improv.” Before the conversation can continue, the chirp of someone entering the call rings, Nastasha’s name popping up, as well as her current vitals. Calm as ever, a sliver of the setting sun slices through the dark room as she walks in, sitting at her table and waving down a waitress.

“He’s not here yet,” she notes. “I’m early, but I assumed so was he.” 

“I haven’t seen anything suspicious, aside from the beautiful woman in the skirt who just walked in.”

“Funny. If you can read my vitals, you’ll notice a spike in arousal at your flattery.” There was no such report, of course, but it made Ray laugh, anyways. “You’re awfully dressed for the occasion. Almost stands out.”

“I doubt anyone would dare come over here, swooning, if I’m seated with ol’ Ray over here.”

“I hope you’re watching the crowd and not scoping for possibilities.”

“I’m not _that_ reckless, Nastasha. I’ll wait until Mark leaves to do so.” As the waitress approaches with her drink, Nastasha hangs up and busies herself refreshing her email on her phone.

“That was almost gross to listen to,” Ray comments aloud, Ian's hand still warm on his jeans. 

“You aren’t following my rules of talking.” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ray leans in and mumbles a comment of Ian being a dirty old man just a few inches from his neck. Getting better. 

“So we just… wait?”

“You’re awfully impatient.”

“I think I’ve expressed my thoughts on this mission, but for training purposes I’m here. Doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

“Hm.” Slipping his hand around Ray's back, he pulls him closer by the waist and keeps him there, finishing off his drink and sighs pleasantly. "Feels like ages since I've been in a bar."

"I'm sure it was a hard shift from hermit to a dead man on the run, but we can't let our guard down. I'm sure our apartment in Vermont is as sanitary is this place - we could fix up a shitty bar setting for two if you really feel that homesick."

"You always know what turns me on," Ian says with a laugh, cut short when Nastasha reenters the call to let them know Mark is on his way. "Got it. Hey, Nastasha..."

"Yes?"

"Are you, by any chance, carrying?" 

"That's your job, isn't it? I have means to protect myself, yes, but I hope I can rely on you if things get messy."

"Of course, you've got nothing to worry about." 

"Good." Conversation falls flat after that, Ray turning his head towards Ian, finding himself almost bumping his chin against the other's head. 

"It's kinda weird just listening in on a call. Feels like an invasion of privacy, almost, even though she consented to it."

"You didn't know Codecs could do this? _Hm_."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, I've just had too many people eavesdrop on my conversations that I'm surprised."

"I may hack into government databases but not someone's call." 

"I appreciate it, babe." Squeezing Ray's hip, he drinks his melted ice in a watery mix and stares towards the door.

"You look like you're about the murder the next guy who walks in."

"I might have to, depending on how this goes."

"Jeez, Sn— Ian." 

"Good boy. I'm only joking. Kind of. We have no idea what this guy looks like, but he's on his way and we need to be on alert." 

"I'm just saying you're not playing it very casual." Turning his head and going for Ray's exposed neck, Ian presses a quick kiss at the spot he had so delicately shaved earlier in an innocent moment, now intimate, but it shuts Ray up the same way. 

"Are you watching Nastasha?"

"Uh, yeah. Everything looks normal. She looks like she's only drinking a Coke but I can tell she's feeling just a little antsy. Possibly just in need of a smoke break."

"Don't blame her. Hopefully this goes quickly."

"Hopefully. The guy seemed formal enough in the emails. Hopefully he's not some creep just trying to impress Nastasha or anything."

"If so, this is the wrong way to go about trying to ask her out." 

"Did you do any research on him?" Ian shakes his head and rubs his thumb against Ray's hip. 

"Not enough information. The IP from the emails traced back to a public library, which was incredibly reckless of him, but gave us no other leads. Email address was linked to no other accounts and was only created less than an hour before contacting Nastasha."

"Almost seems... deliberately careless. Sounds like a hack." 

"Guess we'll find out." 

A relaxed silence falls in their booth, though somewhere a small band is setting up for the night, checking their guitars and chatting amongst themselves, getting refreshments for their friends. Amongst the noise and movement does a man approach Nastasha’s table, extending his hand to shake and sit across from her.

“That must be him,” Ian remarks, trying to make out any details in the dimly lit bar. 

“He absolutely looks suspicious,” Ray notes. “Like he’s trying _too_ hard to look like your average joe.” 

Pulling his satchel into his lap, Mark makes a brief sweep around the bar with his eyes, completely skimming over Ian and Ray but squints suspiciously in the direction of the bar before dismissing it. Producing a stack of papers and a steno pad, Mark begins his spiel on how much he enjoyed reading her book and learning about Shadow Moses and how he was glad the world is able to know about the presence of _MG_ , as if intentionally avoiding the word itself. 

“Giving off major fanboy vibes.” 

“Yeah.” Inching closer to try and make out Mark’s lip movements, Ray presses his thigh against Ian’s, who cups the inside of his leg to hold him there. 

“Are you sure we’re safe back here?” Ray asks, glancing between Mark and Ian beside him. “That they can’t see us?”

“Of course. And even if anyone could, they won’t bother a man having an affair.” Before he can stop it, Ray’s jaw falls open in shock.

“An _affair_?” He whispers, only remembering to close his mouth when Ian taps his chin with his knuckle. “ _That’s_ what this is?” 

“Shh, darling,” Ian murmurs, cupping Ray’s cheek and smiling. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?” Biting his tongue, Ray inches away from Ian’s touch and looks down at the table, around the bar, and back to Ian.

“This is a shitty place to take a side-piece, I can tell you that.”

“Somewhere a man knows someone won’t come looking,” he concludes, his soothing smile turning into a smirk as he sits back and closes his eyes, listening to what he can catch from Nastasha’s conversation. “How do her stats look?”

“Fine. Doesn’t seem like he’s said anything alarming yet. Probably still awkward flattery.”

"This is gonna be a long night," Ian grumbles, scratching at his chin and hums thoughtfully.

"Could be worse, I suppose." 

Walking his fingers across the seat, Ian settles his hand back on Ray's thigh, warm and gentle. Tapping his index finger along the inner seam of his jeans, Ray shifts nervously but lets himself be pulled in next to Ian. 

"If we have some time to kill," he starts, "we should practice our roles." 

"Is that so?" 

“Keep up, if you can.” Using his thumb and forefinger to grasp Ray’s chin, Ian pulls him closer and touches the tips of their noses together. 

“Your breath smells,” Ray grimaces, half-lidded eyes focused on Ian’s lips as they curl upwards in a soundless chuckle. Tipping his head, Ian kisses the spot between Ray’s bottom lip and chin, then the corner of his mouth, slightly agape in surprise. 

“You need to loosen up a little. You look too stiff and unnatural. This is a _role_ and you aren’t selling it very well.” 

“I - God - I’ve never been a very good actor.” 

“You need to learn fast, then.” Pressing soft kisses that barely graze the skin, Ian makes his way around Ray’s jaw and to his ear, nibbling. 

“This isn’t something I’m used to, y-you know?” Tucking his chin into his shoulder, Ray clenches his eyes and inhales sharply. 

“Now you just look like I’m harassing you like a creepy old man.” 

“You are, just a bit.” 

“Too much?”

“No,” Ray says after a pause. “I just don’t think I have enough alcohol in me to loosen up.”

Ian quirks an eyebrow at his wording and nods once, sliding from the booth and grabbing the attention of a hostess. Returning with two drinks, Ray stiffs his hesitantly before looking over at Ian, sipping his slowly. 

“Nothing strong,” he assures the other. “Like I said, we may be here for a while and can’t get reckless just yet. Things seem to be going well, but hopefully this’ll shake your nerves a bit.” Tapping their glasses in cheers, Ray cringes after taking a swig, then toggles back to Nastasha from across the room. 

“They seem to be more engaged in conversation,” the scientist reports, “but nothing that’s triggered anything in her. Probably still just business jargon.” 

“Fun,” the sarcastic drone comes from Ian’s mouth, though his wandering hand resumes its dedicated spot on Ray’s thigh, Ray deciding to let it rest and bask in the warmth of his touch. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ray wiggles his way towards Ian, trying to push his way out of the booth, excusing himself to the bathroom. Ian offers instructions, though they both had memorized the floorplan and all the exits, if anything were to go wrong. Luckily, the bathroom was in the opposite corner of the bar, keeping themselves out of Mark’s sight as much as possible. Nastasha spares no glance over, sipping from her almost empty drink. 

On his way back from the bathroom, Ray debates ordering her another drink, but decides not to in case the waitress accidentally points towards their booth and gives away their location. Mark, the nice guy he seemed to be, had noticed already and ordered them a second round of non-alcoholic drinks, keeping their bar meeting as professional as it could be. Ian, on the other hand, was chewing on an ice cube when Ray returned.

“He is definitely trying to hit on her,” Ian reports, to which Ray rolls his eyes.

“Gross. Isn’t she married?” 

“Separated, technically, but definitely not interested in hooking up with some anonymous who seems to be explaining her own research to her.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. How are you feeling?”

“Warm, but good.”

“Here,” turning Ray towards him, Ian swiftly unbuttons the top button of his flannel, then more deliberately the second one, parting it slightly. “Better?”

“If I’d known better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

“Only trying?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man. I could do better.”

“Hey.” There’s an edge to Ian’s voice, pushing aside their drinks and placing his elbow on the table, squaring his shoulders. “That’s no way to talk to me, is it? Is something the matter?”

For a second, Ray squints his eyes and thinks. _If this were Snake breaking character and asking him what was wrong, he would give off some kind of hint, right? Or was this part of Ian’s character? Did Snake always give off this powerful, sexual vibe, or was Otacon just mixing the two in the moment?_

Before he could respond, Ian pushes forward, cornering Ray against the wall and staring at him with furrowed brows. _Is this for privacy or intimidation? Both?_ His eyes fall on Ray’s lips, down in a deep set frown. _This must be the act. Ray getting mouthy isn’t part of the character._ Inhaling sharply through his nose, he pushes back against Ian and slots their lips together a little off center, Ian immediately adapting and letting Ray take control, though it lasts briefly as he slumps back against the wall. With his eyes screwed shut, he relaxes slightly when Ian’s warm laugh fans across his face.

“I take it everything’s fine, then,” is what he says before he sits back and goes back to watching Nastasha, the slightest hint of color on his cheeks. 

Taking off his glasses and setting them on the table, Ray presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Did I really just do that?” He asks aloud, Ian putting his hand on his back.

“Don’t think anything of it. You’re just finally getting into character. If anything, it wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve had.” Groaning, Ray puts his glasses on and looks over.

“That makes me feel slightly less of a loser. Thanks.”

“Of course,” squeezing Ray’s shoulder, there’s a smirk on Ian’s lips that he hides behind his glass and chews on another ice cube. 

“This will be a long night,” Ray repeats, watching Nastasha’s consistent vitals, slumping slightly in his seat and takes another sip, closing his eyes and listening to the steady beat of her heart mixed it with the idle vocals from the local hand and the gnawing of Ian beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize now i should've made their names correlate closer to snake and otacon but i just. really liked ian and ray. apologies if it got a little confusing, i tried to keep the entire thing reasonably believable like a spy movie would. hopefully i didn't slip up anywhere.
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! hopefully this will be finished soon.


End file.
